


Weight

by stereosleeper



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereosleeper/pseuds/stereosleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin moves to Noonvale. Trouble follows. Modern-day AU witness protection program/high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Working title. I asked myself, how many tired tropes can I cram into this? And this was the result.

“The court finds the defendant guilty of four counts of manslaughter and will face life in prison without possibility of parole.”

Martin sagged. Movement in the courtroom was lost on him; the guard at his side placed a hand on his shoulder to bring him to and usher him out. There was noise and motion, but Martin was looking for his father. He found him among the throng of people, sitting still, staring straight ahead.

“My dad,” he said, but nobeast acted. “My dad!” he exclaimed louder, but the guard shook his head. The bulk of the court moved toward the large double doors, but Martin was herded out a side door where his escort waited, disguised as a news van. The noise fell to a sudden hush and was replaced with the September chill. His father remained behind. His complaints were ignored until they died out, so he stopped paying attention to his surroundings. After the events of this past year, Martin was getting used to retreating into himself and letting the world move him, without him.

His case worker was a kind hedgehog named Emanuel, or Manny. Sometime later they sat in his hotel room with coffee and tea, though Martin didn’t partake. He’d been living in this hotel room for months, yet it showed no sign of a long-term inhabitant; Martin had no possessions. A few other members of his unit stood about as Manny sat across from him.

“It went as expected,” Manny said. He tapped on his tablet and put it down. “No parole, maximum security. Out of your way for good.”

Martin nodded bleakly. Outside the sun shone in the September day. The curtains were partially drawn, allowing Martin but a glimpse at what a normal life was like.

“Some of his underlings are still at large. It’s confidential, but I feel you would feel better for hearing this: we’re pretty close to catching a few of them.” Manny smiled. Martin knew it probably was a bluff. But points for trying.

“So… let’s talk about you. You’ll -”

“What will happen to my dad?” The question was soft.

Manny’s shifting was so textbook shady that he expected the other agents to trade glances. But they remained stoic. “Your father…” Manny started slowly, “well, he’s not doing well, mentally. He’ll have to stay at a psychiatric center a little longer, especially to process the verdict.”

“You’re separating us?”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin ducked his head. He thought he’d cry, but the well that was his emotions had dried exactly eight months ago, on a cold January night.

“Because of his condition, you’ll be allowed to visit. But yes, he’ll be remaining here. We’ll transfer him somewhere discreet when he’s ready. And I’ll let you know as things develop.”

Manny was genuinely sorry. He was beyond middle age, and it showed in the greying of his spikes. His face was lined with frown and laugh lines. He might actually arrange a visit, Martin supposed. He looked invested.

“Thank you.” Martin unfolded his hands and took a sip of water for the first time.

Encouraged, Manny smiled again. “Anytime. Now this is the fun part. You get to be a whole new you. New identity, new look, new place. A fresh start,” he beamed and shuffled in the case at his side. Papers emerged and were placed on the table between them.

“Here’s a list of possible locations. A big city works both with and against us, but ultimately we think you’d be better in a small town.” He slid a sheet toward Martin. “Town of Noonvale, population under 7,000. Historic village turned town, great food, lots to do outdoors. I hear their public school is ranked pretty well.”

Martin took the sheet out of politeness. “Alright. This is fine.”

Manny paused. “So, this one? Sure you don’t want to look at the rest?”

Martin shook his head.

“Well alright. Now we need to fix you up a little…”

A new identity was presented to him. “You won’t have to act,” he was reassured. “We’ll just change your headfur color and cut. Maybe contacts if you can stand them. You will have a monthly stipend and we’ll provide for lodgings and food, so you’ll even be able to live somewhere that’s not a hotel, eh? Bet you’re sick of this place. New clothes, new name. New you.”

 

**PART 1: NOONVALE**

 

“Detention?” The fork never made it past her father’s lips.

Brome sunk lower and dinner around the table stilled.

“What on Earth for?” her father growled.

Brome mumbled something. He typically had a strong voice. Obviously if a sinkhole opened anywhere within a two kilometer radius, Brome would gladly leap into it. Unfortunately, no freak accident thus far; he remained in the path of his father’s wrath.

“Sit up straight. Talk to me normally,” he was commanded. Brome seemed to die inside as he met his father’s gaze.

“Three unexcused absences.”

She saw the grip tighten on the fork. “School has only been in session for two weeks.”

Thankfully her mother intervened. “Dear,” she cautioned, “this is the first we’re hearing about this. Why didn’t the school call?”

Brome shrugged unhappily, but Rose knew he’d probably begged the sweet secretary, Ms Hollander, to let him break the news. He may not even have planned to tell his parents, but a family event fell during his detention. Rose’s recital was tomorrow, and how could he wiggle out of it? He’d confided this in his sister, who’d gently advised him to own up to the truth.

“Why have you been skipping school?”

A tense silence followed. Brome pushed around his salad.

Rose and Brome’s father was Urran Voh, a tall mouse, handsome with age, and almost regal. He was also the mayor of Noonvale. His child, anything less than a pillar of wholesome values? Unacceptable.

Dinner did not end well. Though she and her mother tried to intervene, Urran still yelled until his whiskers shook and Brome yelled back, having the larger lung capacity of the two. Brome stalked off, smashing his chair aside and stomping to his room in a show of aggression that had been more and more common lately.

“That child,” Urran growled, lowering himself back down.

“Puberty,” her mother chided. “It’s normal to rebel.”

“But what is he up to while skipping? Can you imagine the stain on my reputation if someone sees him doing drugs on a street corner?!” he repeated. Rose sighed. When your father was a political figure, your problems were also his problems. Sometimes he’d turn things to being more about him than you, and it was an unspoken source of conflict around the house. 

Thankfully the house was large enough they could ignore each other for the rest of the evening. Rose knocked on Brome’s door afterwards, but he refused to answer. Probably blaming her for making him admit it. She texted her best friend Grumm about the situation, took a bath, did some light studying to review for an upcoming quiz. Grumm reassured her that all would be back to normal in a week. Feeling better, she went to bed.

A part of her envied Brome. She’d never worked up the courage to skip a day in her life. As the older sister, she was the exemplary one, and she wanted Brome’s freedom. Instead she had chores and recitals… dance practice, math tutors, and a strict schedule.

“I’m being silly,” she whispered in the dark. “Your life is good, Laterose Voh.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was only the third week of school, but Rose already felt the monotonous routine forming. She got ready and kissed her parents goodbye, grabbed her things and drove herself and Brome to school. It wasn’t until second period that things livened up.

“Hey,” Her rabbit friend Alana whispered loudly from her left. “Was that guy always there?”

“Who?”

“Third from the left, white shirt.”

Rose craned her neck. “I don’t –“ then she did see him.

The male mouse was staring dully out the window, holding his chin in his paw. He wasn’t talking to anyone either, though a few near him had noticed him in the previously empty seat. Rose had lived in Noonvale her whole life and had attended school with mostly the same classmates. Some new creatures were moving in from Marshank, but none recently. He was definitely new.

“Nope,” Rose said. “Definitely not.”

“A new kid,” Alana sighed dreamily. “Finally some excitement.”

Rose smiled and got out her notes.

 

* * *

 

 

Manny had set some ground rules.

“No law breaking. Hard to protect you if you’re the in the lock up, and hard for local law enforcement to care about saving your hide if you caused them pain.”

Martin nodded. Not a problem.

Manny put up another claw. “No photos. No being in other beasts’s photos. Kids are all about selfies these days. None of that either. You’ll be absent during picture day at school, and make sure to duck from the Yearbook crew.” Manny smiled.

Martin shrugged.

“No social media, no facebook, twitter, whatever the latest thing is. If it reveals anything about you, you can’t have it.”

There were more. Manny had even written them down for him, stuck them to his new fridge with magnets. No car for the moment, he’d travel by bus or have a member of his case unit drive him. Groceries and furniture would be provided to him, so no unnecessary trips to the store. No intimate friendships where he had to reveal too much about himself. Martin didn’t think that’d be an issue. Seeing how quickly Manny glossed over it, he clearly didn’t either.

And finally…

“Don’t get in trouble at school,” Manny sighed. “Try not to stand out in any way than being the new kid already does, alright? Whatever you do, ask yourself: am I leaving a trace of myself? And if the answer’s yes, don’t do it.”

Martin had excelled at obeying all of them so far, except the last one. He looked down at his fist. Was that a speck of blood? The weasel on the floor gurgled, red stuff dripping down his snout. Yep.

An otter teacher came running, students clearing a path.

Shit.

In no time at all he was sitting in the principal’s office. Martin knew he shouldn’t feel so detached from the situation, but something wasn’t right. He couldn’t make himself feel the way his brain was telling him he should feel. For the past few months it felt like a thin film stood between his perception and reality. He was just waiting things out.

“Martin Alburn?” The principal questioned. “Are you new, son?”

All new, totally new. Come on, answer the question, Martin chided himself. Back to reality. “Yes. Sir.”

The aging squirrel clasped his paws together. “So tell me what happened back there.”

What happened is that the weasel had shoved Martin into a locker because he’d been standing in his way, trying to figure which was his. It had been so cliché that Martin was more offended by the trope than the act. In fact he might even have said “Really?” as he swung a fist. Into the locker, fist crashing into the weasel’s snout half a second later.  

The reaction to hit was immediate. “Stop it before it starts,” his father had said. “Anyone bothers you, stomp them out before they think they can mess with you.”

(It had been different then. Where they were from, few beasts messed with Luke’s son.)

Even worse that it was a weasel. Sitting in the principal’s office, he could feel a trickle of rage behind the wall he’d built inside himself.

“Son?”

Keeping himself from gnashing his teeth, Martin said, “I didn’t think, sir. That’s really all it was. I was so nervous about being new and alone here that I wasn’t paying attention when I was standing in front of my locker. That weasel pushed me and I just… overreacted. I’m sorry.”

It did the trick; the principal relaxed. “I know it can be difficult. I especially appreciate the hardship of being confronted when you’re vulnerable. Regardless… assault is serious, Mr. Alburn. Typically it would be a week suspension. However we’ll make an exception and only give you two days after school detention.”

The rest of the day moved forward. Sitting in the principal’s office took all of lunch, for which Martin was secretly glad. Try navigating the notorious high school cafeteria when you’re the new kid who just punched somebeast. Yikes.

After that, students did a little more than stare when he took a seat in class. They whispered loudly too. Martin didn’t look at a single one of them.

After school suspension turned out to be a joke. You had to sit in a room until you could leave. This had been precisely what Martin had planned on doing when back in his own apartment; no loss. He trudged into a small classroom where a few other beasts were sitting, all looking defeated or annoyed. A squirrel by the window, angrily tapping a pen on his notebook. A mouse in the back, doing nothing but looking pretty sad. And the weasel.

The weasel was sitting in the front so that Martin had to walk by him to speak to the teacher in charge. He opened his mouth to speak, but Martin pulled his lips into a smile and raised a fist, ever so slightly. The weasel looked away.

Damn right.

He turned to the teacher. “Cell phones here,” said the bored looking mouse with overly large glasses. Martin fished his phone out – government property, he thought to himself – and left it with the others. He found a table nearby, placing him a little close to the squirrel.

 An hour passed in silence, Martin keeping himself busy by finishing the meager homework assigned to him, before the teacher left to go to the bathroom. “No talking!” She’d warned, slipping out.

“Hey,” whispered the squirrel as soon as she left.

Martin turned. The squirrel was leaning toward him, trying to minimize the volume he’d have to use so the others couldn’t hear him. “You’re the one who punched that jerk?”

A tilt in the weasel’s direction made Martin nod. The squirrel smirked.

“I’m Felldoh. Anyone who beats that guy’s nose in is a friend of mine.” He held out a paw.

Martin couldn’t help a small smile. “Martin. Guess we’re friends then.” They shook paws.

“What are _you_ in for?” he asked. Felldoh rolled his eyes.

“Tardiness. I’m late every day and will continue to be. But they can’t get that through their thick skulls. Wish I had done something as cool as you, though.”

“Let’s be honest, it was more dumb then cool.”

“But satisfying, right?”

The teacher came back so Martin and Felldoh leaned away and went back to their silence. A minute ticked by before something buzzed on her desk.

“Whoever’s phone that is, better turn it on silent.” Warned the teacher, looking up from her book.

It buzzed again. They all ignored it until it buzzed a third time.

The teacher held up Martin’s phone. “Whose is this?”

He got up to claim it, seeing the messages were from Manny. Oh, no.

“I wasn’t inviting you to read your texts, mister…”

“I have to take this,” Martin interrupted. “It’s about my ride home. I’ll be right back.” He darted out before she could argue, and Martin knew she would.

Manny picked up immediately. “We had rules,” said the phone crossly. “You were supposed to come straight back to the safe hou – the apartment. Where are you?”

“Detention.”

“De– WHAT?”

Martin waited him out.

“Martin,” Manny sighed, and it reminded him of his grandmother for a split second. It reattached him to reality.

“I… I punched somebeast. A weasel.”

This time the silence was from the other end. Finally Manny said, “Alright, we’ll talk this out tonight. I’ll come over for dinner. When is detention over?”

“In about a half hour.”

“I’ll have a blue Honda waiting for you. Wave as you walk up like a friend is picking you up.”

They hung up and Martin retreated to the classroom, handing his phone back to a scowling teacher. When it was over, Felldoh stopped him outside. “You here tomorrow too?”

An hour later Martin sat in his mostly barren apartment, sitting at the kitchen table in front of Manny. “I made a friend,” he said in consolation.

Manny scowled over his casserole.

They finished their dinner through Manny's disapproval. After he left Martin did the dishes and looked around his place. 

One bedroom, one bathroom, a small entryway, a kitchenette with a half wall looking into a decent-sized living room. Apart from the kitchen table and chairs, some dish sets, and a bed, Martin didn't have anything else. Maybe bags of clothes, most still folded by the store. Food in his pantry. That was all. 

"There'll be a truck coming on the weekend," Manny had said happily, swiping through the notes on his tablet. "Couch, dresser, the works. Eh?" 

"Thank you," Martin had said. He didn't care. 

 First day of school, first detention. He sat in his completely empty living room, devoid of anything but an outlet, a window, and a ceiling light. The dying day cast him in further gloom. First day of the rest of his life. He pulled his knees to his eyes and waited for the tears. None came, but that made it even worse. 

 

* * *

 

The next day was a little different because now even his first period classmates were looking at him. Some were shaking their heads. Others were clearly impressed. Martin would blink and stare back casually until they were done.  

When the last period before lunch ended, Martin sweat a little. Maybe he should find somebeast else to knock out, so he could sit through lunch again. He grabbed his stuff and walked in search of the library, because eating alone with a book sounded much better. Noonvale High School was rather luxurious for a public school. The library was in a different building, connected to the main one by a glass walkway, or you could walk through the garden. Martin decided he'd like some sunshine and sidestepped to take that route instead. 

He emerged outside and took two steps before a voice above him called his name. 

Felldoh was sitting on a sloping part of the roof, legs dangling casually. "Hey matey. Looking for company?" 

Martin eyed a possible path to Felldoh's side. He wordlessly threw his schoolbag up for Felldoh to catch and climbed up hastily. A squirrel he was not, but he could grapple his way up without too much issue. Thankfully nobeast was outside this soon. Felldoh grinned at him. 

They scurried out of sight, to a higher part of the roof hidden from sight. It was slightly diagonal, but level enough to sit. 

"They're learning," Felldoh said with a raised brow. "No one nagged me this morning." 

"Is this a sleeping in thing, or a necessary thing?" 

"Necessary. I take care of my father until his aide shows up." 

Martin nodded and left that alone. 

"Boy, you really don't say much, do you," Felldoh leaned back on his elbows, his large tail flicking by his side. "Swing your fists and don't even say a word. Beasts will think you're simple."

Martin had to laugh. 

"What happened with that weasel yesterday, anyway?" 

"He pushed me into a locker.” He made a face. “So cheesy. I mean, at least dunk my head in the toilet, or something. Have some respect." Martin had packed an apple, and bit into that. 

Felldoh hooted with laughter and sat up to throw an arm around him. "You! I like you." 

Lunch was nice afterall. It was sunny and Felldoh was a kindred spirit. He had a rough talk and rougher demeanor, but he was kind and accepted Martin immediately. When the small talk was done, he filled him in about the school. 

"Moved here last year with my father. Noonvale's a nice place, but definitely classist. There's a major resentment for anybeast coming out of the encampment to the west, Marshank. Not that I disagree." 

"Marshank?" 

"A shanty town almost. Or like a commune but for criminals. Nothing but vermin." 

The term was so racist that Martin was taken aback, but Felldoh shrugged. "It's true. Just stoats, rats, weasels and the like. They're slowly relocating here and there's a whole movement to either accommodate them, or kick them out."

Martin thought of the looks he'd gotten from classmates, and figured they were probably thinking he'd done them a favor. He told Felldoh as much. 

"Most likely. Lots of snobby rich families here. Nice folk, but old fashioned."

The bell rang, and Martin found himself genuinely sorry. 

But Felldoh grinned. "See ya in detention." 

 

* * *

 

  

He looked forward to detention for the rest of the day and the irony wasn't lost on him. 

Same classroom as last time, same creatures. He sat next to Felldoh, but the teacher made them sit one desk apart. He settled in to do nothing when the mouse from the back moved up and sat one seat away from Martin. He looked over curiously. 

The mouse was younger, and well dressed. A first year, too nervous to be any older. His eye caught Martin's and he looked away quickly.  

An admirer? Martin wondered at the proximity, but the teacher was looking over sternly at the sudden club forming. He dutifully took out some work to do. 

A long hour and and half went by, then they were free to go. Felldoh stopped him just outside the door, and they both scowled at the weasel who brusquely rushed past. 

"Hey matey. Mind giving me your number?" 

Margin gladly pulled out his phone. It was empty of any contact save for Manny's, the rest were just addresses. His father's psychiatric center. His old home address. He thumbed in Felldoh's number. 

"Excuse me," a timid voice said from the door, and they turned to see the smaller mouse. 

"Yeah?" Martin and Felldoh said simultaneously. The male blinked. 

The detention teacher cleared her throat loudly from inside, so they moved way. The two kept looking at the mouse expectantly. 

"You're the one who punched Rotnose, right?" 

Martin winced at the name. Goodness, they did not do themselves any favors, naming their kids that. "I guess that was his name, yeah." 

The mouse's eyes lit up. "Cool." 

Felldoh shot Martin a look.

"Brome. I'm Brome." He even enthusiastically held out a paw, the other clutching the backpack strap thrown over his shoulder. Martin took it, and so did Felldoh. "I was wondering... could you teach me how to punch?" 

Felldoh gave a bark of laughter as Martin's brows shot up. "What?" 

Brome had the decency to color a little. "I mean, I just thought it was really cool, how you didn't even hesitate... just BAM, right for the nose. Now he's not bothering you anymore, see?"

"Brome...." Felldoh said slowly. "Is somebeast bothering you?" 

"No! I just want to learn, is all." 

 "I'm not gonna teach you how to punch," Martin said gently, carefully not laughing. "You look like a good kid. It might look cool, but it's not fun being a troublemaker. You shouldn't need to know how to punch if no beast is bothering you." 

Brome's face fell. "Come on…" He had probably not expected the hooligans from detention to lecture him.

At this point they had made their way to the front of the school, and thankfully two cars were stalling outside. One of them honked. Martin shook his head. 

The car honked again, and a ringtone sounded from Brome's pocket. He scowled and booked it to his ride. "Please teach me! I'll change your mind, you'll see!" He dashed out. 

Felldoh and Martin shared a look. "Strange one, ain't he?" Felldoh mused.

 

* * *

 

He thought that all in all, it was a decent day. His phone rang, and Martin slightly hoped it would be Felldoh. But it was Manny, as usual. 

"So I've thought about your situation," Manny began, "and we've discussed it with the health staff. They all agree. You need to go see a therapist." 

All good feelings went out the window. "I thought I was done with that. You said I was good. I was better." 

"That was before you socked a weasel in the face for no reason." 

His vision was turning red and though he knew it wouldn't, he hoped the phone would snap in his paw. "Not for no reason -"

"Martin. You don't have a choice. You have anger -"

This time he let his rage take over, and he actually flung the phone against the wall. It bounced off and on to the carpet, leaving a dent in the wall. Martin yanked his keys from the counter and stormed outside, leaving his phone to itself in the empty home. 

"...Issues." Manny sighed and hung up. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Who were you talking to?" Rose was curious. 

"No one," Brome sulked. He had seemed almost excited to get to school; now, driving away, he was not so spirited. 

Rose shoved him playfully to cajole him into opening up, but he just huffed and turned his shoulder. 

"Alright then mister grumpy whiskers," she rolled her eyes. "Last day of detention?" 

"Yep. Dad still mad?" 

"Yep." 

Brome sighed and bopped his head on the window. 

Rose felt for him and gently his rubbed his shoulder. They drove in silence for a few, lights and cars blazing by. 

"So... any new friends this semester?" It was an old joke; they'd known most of their classmates since pre-kindergarden and if there were any friends to be had, those friendships would be in place already. 

But Brome did brighten. Whatever transgression offended him, it was suddenly forgotten. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe. Did you hear about the mouse that punched Rotnose?"  

Rose lifted a brow. "Yes..." 

"He's really nice. I hope he's in detention tomorrow too." 

She had to laugh at that. "For his sake or yours?" 

Brome stuck out his tongue at her. It wasn't that he didn't have any friends. He was just... a character. He could retreat to a safe circle of old buddies if he wanted to. Brome seemed to idolize everything his father was not, and he had a wild streak in him that was out of place in their gentle lineage. Brome looked up to anyone who was confident and spoke their minds. 

Violence prone thugs were no exception, apparently. She shook her head at him as they turned into their long drive way. 

 


End file.
